


Brookfield Boys

by MadameMontgomery



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Boarding School, First Meetings, Fluff, Hannibal is Not a Cannibal, Light Angst, M/M, Mischa Lives, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:56:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMontgomery/pseuds/MadameMontgomery
Summary: He was standing quietly, a soft smile on his face. Almost as tall as Chilton, he had feathery bangs that were falling into his eyes, and their uniform jacket actually fit well on his broad shoulders. He had an air of elegance that Chilton could only hope to one day achieve. The boy caught Will staring and smiled wider.


  Will instantly hated him.


  “As you can see, class, we have an exchange student this year. Young Mr. Hannibal Lecter comes to us from the wild and tangled forests of Lithuania.”

---
A HS!AU where Will and Hannibal meet in boarding school. Will is prickly and pissed off. Hannibal is charmed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I love me some good high school AU, and this fandom is in dire need for more of it. I had such a fun time writing in this 'verse that I'm strongly considering adding more chapters later. Let me know if that interests you, too! This work is a gift to the wonderful [nnarinn](http://nnarinn.tumblr.com/), whose [fanart of teen!hannigram](http://nnarinn.tumblr.com/post/150353428196/teenhannigram) inspired me to do this piece. All of their art is incredible, so definitely check them out!!
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

It was ten past eight on a disgustingly sunny Monday morning, and Will’s first class was already running late. He was sitting in the back corner of Abnormal Psychology, watching the clock. His own back was pressed hard against the wall, trying to get as physically far away from everything as possible. His little safe space in all this madness.

The second hand ticked past another minute. He sighed.

He had spent the summer trying to transfer out of it, writing home in vain to his father, asking for a note, an excuse, _something_ that would make his life less of a living hell than it already was. That worked about as well as he expected, his dad either too busy or too drunk to write back to the son he’d sent away. 

Will ground his teeth together, shoulders hitching up to his ears at the obnoxious chatter of his classmates.

“Surprised to see you in here, Graham. I would have thought you knew enough about the subject already.” Freddie turned around in the seat ahead of him. The red of her hair clashed against the green of their uniforms. 

_She looks like a damn Christmas tree._

“Maybe it’s right up my alley.” Will forced a smile.

Freddie only smirked back.

“Miss Lounds, turn around in your seat. You can never have a first impression twice, so let’s try to make it a good one, shall we?” Doctor Chilton burst into the room, a strange boy following him. Will held a singular type of disdain for Chilton. The man was a peacock, strutting and flaunting and too proud. Trying too hard to be well-liked when he had the personality of a doormat.

_That boy behind him, though…_

He was standing quietly, a soft smile on his face. Almost as tall has Chilton, he had feathery bangs that were falling into his eyes, and their uniform jacket was actually fit well on his broad shoulders. He had an air of elegance that Chilton could only hope to one day achieve. The boy caught Will staring and smiled wider.

Will instantly hated him.

“As you can see, class, we have an exchange student this year. Young Mr. Hannibal Lecter comes to us from the wild and tangled forests of Lithuania.”

Hannibal nodded. “I’m honored to have the chance to study in America. Perhaps here I can learn a measure of,” he shot a sly glance at Professor Chilton, “civility.”

Will choked down a laugh as Chilton’s smile stiffened to a grimace.

“Yes, well, we can only hope for such good fortune. For the time being, you may have the seat next to, ah, Mr. Graham there. He looks like he could do with a friend.” Chilton waved his hand in Will’s general direction before turning to his desk, voice dropping to a mutter. “You go get settled in while I get the syllabi ready for what I’m sure will be another _fantastic_ year of abnormal psychology.” 

Hannibal was somehow able to interpret Chilton’s vague gesture as an actual direction, which was an impressive feat on its own. He looked far too pleased to be sitting next to Will. Will, of course, was doing his best to slouch further down into his desk, determinedly not looking at this new Hannibal Lecter.

“So,” Hannibal slid into the desk beside him with the grace of royalty descending upon a throne, his accent smooth and warm. It was all mildly sickening. “Do you have a first name, Mr. Graham?”

“His full name is William Graham. He was sent here from Louisiana last year. And he doesn’t need to be in ab psych because he’s already a bit too familiar with it.” Freddie had turned around in her chair again, smiling her _professional smile_. She stuck her hand out. “I’m Freddie Lounds, reporter for the Brookfield Weekly. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from William Graham.”

Will felt his face heat up, embarrassment and anger making him sink further into his seat.

_Maybe I’ll just sink into the floor and disappear forever. I’m sure Freddie would love that story._

“Hannibal Lecter,” he answered politely, shaking her hand, “and it’s terribly rude to speak for someone like that, Miss Lounds.”

Freddie’s eyes went wide. Will turned to stare at Hannibal. Hannibal smiled serenely back at him.

“I’m sure William is more than capable of speaking for himself.”

Freddie looked hilariously insulted and turned back around with a _hmph_. Will could only open and close his mouth a few times before deciding on: “It’s Will.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name. It’s Will. Not William.”

Hannibal tilted his head to the side, eyes crinkling. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Will Graham.”

“Yeah, you too.” Will looked away. He was _not_ blushing. It was the leftover embarrassment and anger. Obviously. 

He could feel Hannibal’s eyes and flushed deeper. “Not fond of eye contact, are you?”

Will shot a glance towards him, straightening in his chair. He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“A lack of eye contact suggests a missing barrier. Lacking forts. Things grating far too close to the edges of your mind.” His eyes looked almost red under the fluorescent lights, and they were gleaming. “I’d ask you who you are, Will, but I’m not sure if even you would know.”

Will felt dizzy. Or like he was going to throw up. He felt the blood draining from his face, all hints of a blush gone. Everything Hannibal said was true and true enough that he was nearly choking at the thought of Freddie overhearing them. She would publish Hannibal’s words in some humiliating article that would ruin whatever little bit of happiness he still had left at this school. Between his awkwardness and acerbic personality, the other students already thought he was a freak, and they had known him for a year. 

Hannibal had known him for less than ten minutes. And to have thought that he was different, even just for a second—

“Will?” He almost sounded concerned. Will took a ragged breath. His fingers ached with how hard he was clutching the sides of his desk.

“Don’t _psychoanalyze_ me,” he ground out. “You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.”

“Will, I—”

“If you ever talk to me again, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Hannibal frowned. He opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Doctor Chilton starting class with some obviously rehearsed welcome speech. Will could almost hug the man.

Class passed in less of a blur and more of a smudge. Chilton sounded like he was talking from underwater. Hannibal kept shooting frowns in his direction. Will couldn’t get out of his head, couldn’t focus. The rushing in his ears almost sounded like a stream.

When the bell rang, Will was the first up and out of his seat. He stared at the floor, walking away from his corner with quick steps. It was no longer safe. It was violated. He felt violated.

Distantly, he could hear Hannibal calling his name. Will ignored him.

_Fucking asshole._

===

Brookfield was technically a high-class boarding school, but from what Will could tell, the quality of lunches was barely better than his little public school’s back in Louisiana. There, his former classmates used to take turns trying to throw their half-frozen meatballs through the crack in the cafeteria window. Grudgingly wistful, Will looked down at his tray. Today was some sort of meatloaf and mashed potato combo with a chocolate chip cookie for dessert. The only reason he knew it wasn’t packaged was that it was burnt along the bottom edges. 

_Wonderful. If only dear old Dad could see me now._

Will sat alone at the end of a long table, since Brookfield actually had giant dining tables to match their giant dining hall. It was a bit pretentious, but Will enjoyed lunchtime. He didn’t eat much, of course, but everyone else was too busy doing it to pay him any attention. The chatter was more humming white noise than harsh, grating buzz, and it gave him time to gather himself. Gather the necessary strength to make it through each day. Since Will was already considered a freak, this process was usually, blessedly, uninterrupted. 

And because his day was already going swimmingly, today was not one of those days.

He looked up at the approaching footsteps to see a young girl, most likely a freshman or middle-schooler, carrying a tray and beaming at him. She had thick blond curls and the same reddish brown eyes as—

Hannibal. Who also happened to be standing right behind her, carrying a tray of his own.

Will frowned.

“Excuse me, are these seats taken?” The girl asked, setting down her food before he could even open his mouth.

“Ah…no?”

“Good.” Her pleased expression looked eerily like Hannibal’s, too. “Sit down, Hannibal, you look like an idiot, and you’re making Will nervous.”

Hannibal sat, looking somewhere between sheepish and defeated. Will was too dazed to even question what the hell was going on.

“It would be _rude_ of me to skip introductions,” she said, like it was a rule she was relishing to break, “and we don’t want Hannibal to get all worked up about manners. I’m Mischa Lecter. Hannibal’s my brother.”

“Unfortunately,” Hannibal sighed.

Mischa stuck her hand out, and Will shook it tentatively. 

“And you,” she continued, “must be Will Graham.”

“And if I am?” He was defensive, thrown out of his comfort zone.

_Another safe space invaded_. He shot a glare at Hannibal. Mischa only grinned.

“Then I’d be honored to meet you. Most people are charmed when they meet my brother. They think he’s _interesting_.”

“Well, you’ll be happy to know I don’t find him that interesting. The opposite of interesting, maybe.” He shoved a piece of meatloaf in his mouth. It tasted bitter.

Mischa laughed, delighted. “Exactly! There’s no accounting for taste for most people. He’s basically an overstuffed throw pillow anyway.”

“ _Mischa_.” 

“Well, it’s true!” She beamed at Hannibal’s obvious offense then shared a conspiring look with Will. “Did you know he wears suits when he’s not in school? They’re _plaid_ , and he wears them with _paisley ties_. He has his own _tailor_ , Will.”

Will, despite his best efforts, huffed a laugh. Hannibal, wearing the exhausted look that only older siblings have, took a bite of his meatloaf. The regret on his face was comical.

“I understand that is this meatloaf, but this is unacceptable. Brookfield is one of the top boarding schools in the country. I had hoped they'd serve actual food. Or at least something edible.”

“It’s school food, you couldn’t have expected too much.” Will took another bite just to spite him.

“At home, this would have been considered garbage.”

Will thought back to his own home, being too young to cook and having to reheat his dad’s old take-out in the microwave. One time he had gotten food poisoning and ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor, scared out of his mind but even more scared to call his dad because they needed that job to stay afloat. Even this dried out meatloaf would have been a luxury then.

“Maybe some of us aren’t privileged enough to live on more than this _garbage_.”

He watched Hannibal’s face fall with understanding, and grimaced. He didn’t like pulling the poor card because he hated the pity that came along with it, but Will was sick of his holier-than-thou bullshit.

“Will, please, I—”

“Hannibal, maybe you can cook for Will sometime!” Mischa interrupted, cutting off what Will was sure to be an ignorant, insulting apology. 

“Y-yes, I am a gifted chef—”

“I’m going to dump my tray.” Will stood up, forcing a smile at the siblings before walking off. He was white-knuckling the tray and had to take a couple deep breaths before prying his fingers from the sides. His jaw ached with tension. He was seeing red.

_Who does he think he is? Hannibal goddamn Lecter, pretentious European snob who acts like being normal is so hard. Who doesn’t give a fuck about anyone else. All high and mighty and just because defended me in front of Freddie doesn’t mean anything, he doesn’t fucking care—_

“Will?” He turned around, unaware that he had been standing in front of the disposal. His nails were biting into his palms. Other students were walking around him, eyeing him warily, but Mischa was frowning, concerned and far too sad. 

And, shockingly, with none of the pity he hated so much. She wasn’t staring at him like he was a freak, but instead like someone all too familiar with pointed stares and harsh whispers. Empathy was a rope that bound, and Will felt it tight around his neck.

“What.” It was barely a question. It was barely more than a grunt of a word.

“Hannibal, he—” she took a steady breath, “he’s not as bad as you think.”

Will glanced at his table. It was empty.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t excuse him for—”

“People have pasts, Will! And not all of them are pretty and perfect.” She looked almost angry, so he shut his mouth. “You can understand that. We, Hannibal and I, understand that, too. It may not seem like it, but life wasn’t easy for us, and Hannibal did the best he could. He—he takes care of me and cooks and is silly about clothes, but he’s really nice. He’s _kind_. It’s hard to see, _he’s_ hard to see, but give him time. He likes you, Will, so please. Give him time.”

Mischa was silent for a moment, then she lifted her head and looked him in the eyes. Her face was red, eyes wet, but she had a defiance that struck Will instantly. 

_She’s a survivor._

Whatever she saw in his face seemed to satisfy her. She nodded once, turning on her heel and walking out. She didn’t look back. Will felt unmoored.

He left the dining hall. It was only halfway through the first day, and already it was too much. His head was pounding, and pounding it against the nearest wall seemed like the best idea he’d had all day. The second was just going back to his room, emailing his professors that he was sick, and trying to sleep this away. Life was fucked up enough as it was; he didn’t need any young Lithuanians or their doe-eyed sisters making it worse.

“Will?”

_Dear god, please not again._

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. Hannibal was leaning against one of the pillars that lined their courtyard, and Will had walked by while lost in thought. Hannibal looked as surprised as he felt irritated.

“What do you want,” he snapped.

“I hadn’t expected seeing you, but I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior.”

He forced a laugh. “Which time?"

“Touché.” Hannibal’s smile was pained. “But I am sorry, Will, for all of it. I didn’t mean to offend. I can’t turn my mind off any more than you can.”

“So you have the right to pick people apart? Dissection for your own amusement?” Will turned slowly, voice pitching higher. “You humiliated me. Twice. You’ll have to do better than _you can’t turn it off_. Was it because I’m easy pickings? The freak with the weird mind and fucked up family?”

“Just the opposite, Will,” his voice was too honest, too earnest, “you’re one of the most incredible people I’ve ever met.”

Will took a step back, flushing red. Mischa’s words came back to him, and he looked away.

_He likes you, Will, so please. Give him time._

“But if I have ruined things between us beyond repair, I will respect your wishes—”

“No,” Will whispered. He was crazy. He didn’t do this.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“No,” he repeated louder, “I mean, yes, you’ve been an asshole today, but I…I have, too. I’m abrasive and bad at people and just…I’m sorry. Also.”

They both seemed shocked at his words. Will kept going.

“I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, but people have pasts. I understand that.”

The silence stretched. Will could feel Hannibal staring at him. Will was staring pointedly at his shoulder, face on fire. 

“It’s true, I don’t know you,” Hannibal began quietly, “but given the chance, I would like to. Perhaps I can invite you for dinner. Cook something more comforting than stale meatloaf.”

Will raised his eyes to Hannibal’s small, hopeful smile. He just looked at him for a moment, teetering on the edge of a knife. This, he knew, would change him. Somehow, someway, it would change everything.

He smiled back. 

“Yeah, I would like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Kudos and comments are a writer's lifeblood!
> 
> Come say hi!
> 
> [stormygalahad.tumblr.com](http://stormygalahad.tumblr.com/)


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